


new ghosts

by knoir (bchemicalromance)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Angst, NB Byleth, Post-Time Skip, Spoilers, bl spoilers, dad jeralt is still dad, feralmitri is feral, ghost au, jeralt is haunting dima, there's really only one graphic paragraph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 00:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20322118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bchemicalromance/pseuds/knoir
Summary: jeralt thought the afterlife meant there would be no new memories. there wouldn't be anything. he would be in one place and the living would be in another, no overlaps, no crossovers, no nothing. but then he's back, under new conditions.(in which jeralt finds he's haunting his child's student, and he's not the only one)





	new ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the angst squad and all the other bread eaters in the discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+angst+squad+and+all+the+other+bread+eaters+in+the+discord).

> on one angst filled evening, [quag](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157739), [jade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140096), and i sat down and screamed about the adventures of feralmitri, eventually finding our way in a world where jeralt eisner himself is one of dimitri's ghosts, as if he doesn't have enough.

In all of his years, and there were too many to count, Jeralt Eisner has only a short list of moments he would never forget. 

The first one, obviously, was meeting his wife. How a woman as heavenly as her ended up with a brute like him was something that Jeralt still questioned, even in the afterlife. And nothing hurt more than finding out his wife didn’t make it through the birth of their child, their only child, a quiet baby given to him by the hands of the Archbishop, which left him wondering if he had lost his child too. Luckily, he didn’t, and they both lived long enough to share memories of being mercenaries and a duo that was meant to be feared. But their days as mercenaries wasn’t it either, it was when he died, when he saw his only child cry for the first time. The gentle drops of tears that landed on Jeralt’s face almost made him forget his pain entirely, almost made him forget he was dying. But he was, and the next thing he knew, he was dead.

Jeralt thought the afterlife meant the end of the end. No new memories, nothing more to see in the mortal world, nothing more to see at all. He thought he would live in one place with the rest of the dead and the mortals would keep living in the world the dead once knew. No overlaps, no crossovers, no nothing. 

When Jeralt closed his eyes for the last time, he thought he would open them to find himself in the Eternal Flames. He wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case, seeing as he was a mercenary who followed the nobles that waved bags of gold in his face, leading him to a problem (usually in the forms of bandits or thieves), and him getting rid of it with ease. Even still, he was prepared to vouch for himself. He had a kid he needed to support, a kid that may have required intense medical attention. He did what he had to do. 

But his alibi wasn't given a chance. In fact, Jeralt never got the time to deliver it in the first place. When he opened his eyes he was in the Knight's Hall, a part of the Monastery he frequented. Since getting roped back in Garreg Mach as the Captain of the Knights of Seiros, it was up to Jeralt to give the Knights orders, mostly echoing whatever Lady Rhea had told him. 

Judging by the emptiness of the Hall, Jeralt could assume he wasn't there to give his men orders. In front of him was that little princeling, the leader of the House his child decided to teach. Dimitri; that was his name. He remembered seeing that name while he looked over Byleth's shoulder as they graded their student's most recent exam. They were meant to have dinner together, but Jeralt went to his child's quarters to see that, once again, Byleth had lost track of time. 

"I'm almost done, Father," Byleth said, so quietly that Jeralt nearly missed it. "This is the last one."

Jeralt ruffled the top of his child's hair as he leaned in closer. "Dimitri Alexander Blaidad," he said, testing the name on his tongue. "Aren't you glad you don't have three pretentious sounding names?"

"That's not how it's pronounced," Byleth replied simply, scribbling over the parchment. "It's Dimitri Alexandre Blay-thed," they enunciated, paying extra attention to the sounds their father missed. Byleth stuck the quill back in its ink pot. "Yes," they said then, "the one name is just fine."

By the time Jeralt was done reminiscing, he realized he was no longer in the Knight's Hall, but now the Dining Hall. He stood at the head of the table, looking down at the rest of the brats Byleth taught. They did not seem to notice his presence, which surprised Jeralt. He wasn't exactly hard to miss. 

"Professor just fell asleep right then and there?" A redhead whose name Jeralt did not know asked, pointing his fork at Dimitri. Dimitri, who was sat at the end of the bench, closest to Jeralt, nodded. 

"In the middle of our conversation, too. Certainly the strangest thing." 

Jeralt felt a pang at the mention of his child. _Byleth._

"But they're with the Archbishop now," the princeling continued, "and she said we had nothing to worry about."

Jeralt felt another pang. Lady Rhea. He set his face into a frown, balling his hands into fists and releasing them repeatedly. Since when listening was a problem for his child? What about 'stay away from Lady Rhea' was he not clear on?

Jeralt turned to march straight to the second floor, his mind selecting the choice words to use on Lady Rhea that wouldn't leave him or his child out of a job. He was able to make it a few steps, however, before he was stopped in his tracks, as if nothing existed beyond the five paces he was able to walk. The next time he registered he was moving again was when he was following that princeling. It was at a good distance, that brat hadn't even noticed Jeralt was there yet. He stopped when the Prince stopped, and moved when the Prince moved. Jeralt looked at his feet, expecting to see one clunky boot move after the other. But was he…floating?

It was very late when Dimitri retired to his quarters. He had gone to the library to study after dinner, and once he felt his food was good and digested, he trained. Jeralt must have been blessed by the Goddess herself to watch the boy's nighttime routine. It took the Prince two hours and thirty seven minutes for his handwriting to completely derail into cat scratch, and another three hours and fifty two minutes for him to trip over himself. But after what felt like an eternity to Jeralt, they were both in his quarters, where Jeralt now watched the Prince organize everything for the next day. 

In the time he had spent following the Prince, Jeralt believed he had a hunch. He made way for the Prince's dresser, where his belt that attached his sword was held. He looked at Dimitri, who had his back turned to him, and slid the belt off the dresser. It fell with a 'clang' that would have started Jeralt, had he been alive and on the second floor of the dormitories. It did startle Dimitri, though, who yelped and tried to reach for the very sword he abandoned for the night. He watched the princeling put a hand over his heart to ease himself, before going back to whatever he was doing before. Jeralt huffed out a laugh, in both disbelief and realization. 

He was a ghost. As if that wasn't enough, he was a ghost who would spend the rest of eternity haunting that brat. 

Jeralt would have preferred the Eternal Flames. 

He decided to not make his presence known in the weeks to come. There wasn’t time to, anyway. For whatever reason, Jeralt couldn’t see the way he could the day before. Once morning hit, Jeralt found that he wasn’t watching the princeling do his own thing, but rather he found he was in the brat’s entitled head, amidst his thoughts. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

At the very least, even in the dark that was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd’s subconscious, he knew his kid was okay. To Jeralt, ‘okay’ meant breathing, walking, and talking. Byleth was doing all of those things (talking, barely, but they were always like that), but this time with a new hair and eye color than the one they and Jeralt thought they were stuck with since birth. Jeralt would have loved to see it, but he had to settle with the rendition curated by the princeling’s royal mind. 

Lady Rhea summoned Byleth and their students to the Holy Tomb at the end of the month, because apparently their child was ‘ready’. Ready to be consumed by Rhea’s crazy ideas, that’s for sure. But while Jeralt had his reservations (many, many reservations), all he could do was lend his strength to the brat, not that he needed it in the first place. Jeralt was able to share the battlefield with Dimitri once, just before he met his untimely fate. He was good, he’ll give the brat that much. But with the legendary ‘Blade Breaker’ on his side, he was even better, and the battle ended soon enough. 

It was after the battle he saw, through Dimitri’s eyes, the Flame Emperor's true identity. 

Jeralt wasn't given a moment to process this, no one was. While the realization washed over everyone, Dimitri charged at her, shouting threats that seemed very plausible in the moment. Jeralt had no hand in the way he swiped his silver lance at the soldiers before throwing it at her. After that he killed two other Imperial soldiers, one with each hand. The legendary Blade Breaker, a title Jeralt hated to begin with, had been outmatched by a vengeful prince. 

Dimitri's head was much louder after the Holy Tomb. Before, Jeralt only heard the never-ending list of the tasks he had to complete, just about drowning that 'darkness' Byleth mentioned he had. Now, it seemed that Dimitri had revamped his to-do list entirely, with only one thing on it remaining: Kill Edelgard. 

Jeralt had noticed then he wasn't the only ghost occupying that brat's mind. He had heard Dimitri talking, _begging_ to someone, promising to deliver Edelgard's head. When he looked to see who the brat was talking to, he found that Dimitri was by himself, speaking to another ghost. This one had met a much more tragic end than Jeralt did. The body towered over Dimitri, though the head of that body lay between them. That head, and the body, belonged to the late King Lambert. Jeralt heard about the tragedy when it happened, everyone did. He couldn't begin to count the Kingdom nobles that tried to hire him to aid the slaughter of all those innocent Duscur civilians. He knew very well the orphaned prince was also the sole survivor of the incident as well, which explained the countless number of Kingdom Soldiers that stood behind the late king. 

"I promise," Dimitri said, looking down at his father's lifeless eyes. It didn't sound like the chivalrous boy that asked for his aid all those moons ago. "I will bring you Edelgard's head so you, step-mother, Glenn, and all these other brave soldiers, can finally rest in peace."

King Lambert didn't say anything; no one did. In place of words they all just looked at the Prince, their stares so scornful and left Jeralt wondering what Dimitri did besides _surviving_. As he walked up to a soldier to ask, Dimitri turned away, unable to look at their gazes any longer. He took a deep breath, and when he looked back, everyone was gone. 

And by the end of the next moon, so was Byleth. The Empire invaded the Church of Seiros at the end of Lone Moon. And while Byleth lead their student-army to victory, it didn't stop the waves of Imperial soldiers that marched into the Monastery. Jeralt didn't know if he should have felt shocked or impressed. How long had this been planned, right under the Monastery's nose as well? It seemed that being at Garreg Mach made both him and Byleth soft. And now they were both dead because of it. 

"I have something to report," the boyish gatekeeper that Byleth visited every chance they could said woefully. "The Professor, they…they fell."

Jeralt had come to the conclusion that the most prominent aspect of being a ghost was how slowly time passed. Hours felt like days, and days felt like years. Though when he helped Dimitri fight against the Imperial Soldiers once more, he felt like everything blurred past him, as if he was granted the ability to fast forward after completing a month of being the Prince's ghost. It seemed that he used the ability as soon as he was able to, as he found himself deep in the forest, standing a little outside the circle Byleth's students formed. 

"What do you mean _fell_?" a scared voice asked, Jeralt didn't pick up who it was. The gatekeeper removed his helmet and clutched it to his heart. 

"Off of a cliff," he continued. "They were protecting the Archbishop when they were hit with magic that the Sword of the Creator could not deflect." The gatekeeper tried to take a deep breath, but his inhale caught in his chest once, twice, before giving up, releasing a shaky exhale. 

"I saw them fall. I heard their screams."

Jeralt choked on a gasp, feeling himself sink to his knees. Not Byleth, _not Byleth_. He taught them how to be strong, how to know their limits, how to know exactly what they could handle. They shouldn't have fell so easily like that. But then again, he fell so easily at the hands of a student and a stab in the back with some kind of weapon. Maybe it ran in the family. 

Dimitri stood suddenly, breaking the silence that fell over his House, and limped deeper into the forest. Once he felt he was far away enough, he began to pace, a habit he picked up in the past month. Jeralt felt the anger boil in the pit of the Prince's stomach, and the lump that formed in his throat. Dimitri stopped and turned to a tree. He raised his arm as his hand curled into a fist. With a scream, he punched the tree. He raised his other arm and did it again. And again. Jeralt felt the burning in his hands, then, along with the pressure every time it collided with the bark. 

"Hey," Jeralt tried, startling himself at his voice. He forgot he still had it, much less what it sounded like before he died, when it was strained and of a higher pitch. However his voice sounded now, it wasn't enough for the Prince to notice. He screamed again, hitting the tree erratically. Jeralt coughed, clearing his throat of the dirt and rubble it accumulated since he was buried. 

"Hey," Jeralt tried again. Nothing. He didn't know how his child dealt with them for as long as they did. "Hey, brat!" 

One of Dimitri's bloodied hands froze in the air. He let his arm fall, slowly turning to the source of the voice. It _couldn't_ be. 

"Captain Jeralt?"

“Stop doing that,” Jeralt said, ignoring the shock on the princeling’s face. “You’ll be useless on the battlefield if you can’t use your hands.”

“How…?” 

They spent some time only staring at each other, Dimitri wondering what in the Goddess' name was going on, and Jeralt looking for an explanation to how and why he was there in the first place. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to, as Dimitri's retainer of sorts approached him.

"Your Highness," the tall man greeted, taking note of the prince's bloodied hands before returning his gaze to his eyes. Jeralt could only assume he was there to ask the princeling if he was okay, to which that question had been answered. "You've been hurt."

Still in shock, Dimitri turned to Jeralt, who only shrugged at the boy. Dedue followed Dimitri's gaze, staring at the empty forest before them. 

"Your Highness," he said again, "is there something wrong?"

"No," Dimitri said finally, turning to his friend. "There is nothing wrong."

"Shall we return to camp, Your Highness?" Dimitri nodded stiffly and began to walk, Dedue following at a good distance. Every so often the prince would turn to see if his professor’s father was still there. And he was, a wave and a wry smile on his face every time. The princeling's stares continued even when they returned to the camp, and the healers tended to his with the dying fire. 

"Kid," Jeralt started, "I'm here, okay? I've been here for the past moon, I think I will be here for many moons after that. I'm here."

"Okay," the prince breathed, causing Mercedes to look up at him. 

"Did you say something, Dimitri?"

"I said thank you," he corrected, "for tending my wounds." The older woman laughed and said it was no problem, as she always did. 

Dimitri picked out a spot of grass a little farther away from everyone else, still in eye's view, to sleep. Jeralt watched him as he tried to make himself comfortable. 

"When Byleth was about four, maybe five, they took a liking to give me a hard time," Jeralt began. "Mostly by refusing to sleep."

He thought of his child, in a bed too big for their size, staring intently at their father. Despite their crossed arms and set glare, their eyes gave way to the tiredness that they tried to hard to suppress. That stare-off wouldn't last very long before Byleth's eyelids fluttered shut and they slumped over as sleep overtook them. Jeralt's heart warmed at that, and it seemed that Dimitri's did too. 

"That doesn't sound like Professor," Dimitri whispered in a voice so low he may as well have mouthed it, yet Jeralt heard it all the same. 

"I agree," he responded. "I didn't anticipate for my child to take the path they choose. I was trying to keep them far from it, actually."

The clarity Dimitri felt left as quickly as it came. His smile dropped (he hasn’t realized he was smiling in the first place). “I’m sorry about your child, Captain, truly, I should’ve been there, fighting by their side. Maybe then they—“

Jeralt put up a hand. “No offense, ‘Your Highness’, but Byleth doesn’t, _didn't_, need you fighting by their side. They’ve always been capable on their own, I raised them that way.” He kept talking before the brat could get another word in. “Could things have gone differently if you were there? Maybe so, kid, but what if it was you down that chasm? Faerghus needs it’s future king, now more than ever, it seems.” He sighed heavily, scratching under his braid. "Why don't you go to bed? There will be plenty of time for us to talk."

He said that so easily, as if that was something he could promise. He couldn’t do the same with his child, why would it be any different with his child's student?

And he found there wasn't time to talk in the days and weeks subsequent to that. Dimitri saw that all of his friends returned to their respective lands before returning to his own. As if the Prince couldn’t catch a break, news broke that his Uncle Rufus was murdered, and none other than the Prince was framed for it. The Queen Consort found it only right that Dimitri paid for it with his life. As his death day approached Dimitri was locked in one of his own castle's holding cells, but at least he wasn't alone. 

"How is that, Your Highness?" Dedue asked Dimitri before his sentencing. Dedue thought it was only fitting that Dimitri wore the armor that was made for him when he led his first campaign to suppress a rebellion west of the Kingdom. It was altered to accommodate the Prince's growth in the two years since then, but it remained all the same. "Would you like me to fix the scar there?"

Dimitri's fingers danced over the 'x' in his armor, where the blue stitching had bled through. Somewhere in the rebellion he let himself get hit twice, before countering with a flip, landing his lance clean through his opponent. "That won't be necessary, Dedue," Dimitri replied, "I don't wish to cover up the past."

The Prince's war outfit was complete with a cape that looked more of the Kingdom's flag, and a fur on top. He truly looked like the Crown Prince, save for the cell he was in. 

Jeralt only watched as Dedue busted the brat out of their shared cell. It wasn't easy; it came with a fight, one that Dimitri escaped, leaving his friend with the brunt of it. Later, when Dimitri wouldn't be running for his life, he would think of how foolish he was. Dedue always urged him to do things that Dedue thought would be for His Highness' own good, and more times than not Dimitri brushed him off and remained doing what his companion gently advised him not to. Dimitri didn't know how far he ran, or what direction he ran to, before he felt himself slow as he became more aware of what happened back in the capital. Dimitri let himself collapse in a cave. He felt his lungs were bleeding, and his were all but useless, which made looking for food and the necessities to make a fire out of reach. 

"You're okay," Jeralt cooed, much like he did with Byleth whenever they had a nightmare. Their face showed no indication of being frightened, though the way they held him a little tighter was all he needed.

"Never mind me," the Prince spat, helplessly trying to pick himself up. His tired legs won the short battle, and he remained on his stomach. "What of Dedue? Will he be okay? Or will he die in vain, wasting his efforts on me, just as everyone else has."

"He died protecting you," Jeralt corrected, "as he promised to do."

"When I was younger," Dimitri began, "I was forced to run around the mountains in heavy armor all night."

Jeralt hummed. "Is that so?"

"It is," he continued. "I carried barrels filled with rocks for miles on end and lifted boulders as well. I learned to hold a sword before I learned to write. I'm stronger than this. I was trained to be able to go farther." He laughed mirthlessly. "I'm out of shape, it seems."

"I'm sorry," Jeralt said, instead of feeding into the brat's self-deprecating joke. "I'm sorry no one told you to put your sword down. That's no way to raise a child." 

Dimitri turned to Jeralt then, who stood over him with his arms crossed and eyebrows knit. Disapproval. 

"You didn't do the same?" Dimitri asked, "with your own?"

"Absolutely not!" Jeralt chided. "I didn't want Byleth to be a mercenary, at least not until I believed they were old enough. As it so happens I suggested that they enroll in the Officer's Academy."

"Why didn't they?"

Jeralt's mind went to the wide-eyed child who always clung to his leg whenever he was talking to a stranger, the child who always insisted to stay with him. 

"I want to stay with you, Papa," Byleth had said in a way that made Jeralt's heart melt right then and there. How was he meant to say no to that? 

He held that moment close to him, telling the prince that his child wanted to be just like him. A smile ghosted over Dimitri's face, as if he saw the memory just as well as Jeralt did. Jeralt watched as the smile faded, a deep scowl setting in. 

"Captain?" He asked, "do you think your child is really dead?"

"No," Jeralt responded, without much thought. "If they were," he continued after a moment, "then they sure as hell are taking a while to find me." He said that in a way that was meant to be jokingly, but the Prince still had guilt on his face. Another person he cared about, he let die. 

"But if they are, then it wasn't your fault. You two were fighting different battles, the only objective was to get out alive. I'm sure they would be glad to find out you completed that one every time."

The cold of the Faerghus night set in the cave, though the Prince did not shiver, only laying still. 

"Hey, kid," Jeralt called, rousing the Prince out of his thoughts. "You'll be okay."

* * *

"I am twenty today," Dimitri said. Jeralt's eyebrows raised at that, though not that he was surprised at his host's age. He hadn't heard Dimitri talk in days. The times he did hear his voice was only in the form of a battle cry, before slaughtering whoever was in his way. He was glad to hear his voice be on the coherent side, sounding more like the Dimitri he and his kid met all those years ago. 

"Happy birthday, son," Jeralt replied. "Twenty is a good age to be." Jeralt scarcely remembered his twenties, time had always mattered very little to him, especially when he first arrived at the Monastery. 

"I didn't expect to make it this far."

Everything became louder again, halting Dimitri's temporarily lucid state. The rest of his mind's inhabitants came rushing in; King Lambert, Patricia, Glenn, and countless other soldiers. The weight of their whispers amounted to high pitched screams for Dimitri. He screwed his eyes shut and plugged his ears with his fingers. "Leave me alone," he pleaded, "_get away from me!_"

Dimitri shifted from the tree he was leaning on to sit on his knees. He stumbled as he did, throwing his hands in front to stabilize him. He heaved on all fours, taking one hand to blindly reach behind him. The dagger. It was something Dimitri held onto since he saw that woman, still masked, talking to those other creatures. He hated himself for being so stupid, and not making the connection as soon as he saw it. He inspected the scratches it received from use, whether from her, when she got it all those years ago, or from him, when he had used it in a pinch. It wasn't as sharp as it was when it clattered at his feet five years ago, but it still cut through the skin on Dimitri's palm as if it was brand new. 

"Kid," Jeralt said, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "What are you doing with that thing?"

Dimitri felt a sob bubble up in his chest, tightening his throat as it made its way out of his mouth. Tears came with it, frustrated ones, like that of a tired child. "Do you promise to never leave me?"

"I promise kid," Jeralt replied urgently. He heard the other ghosts, among with Dimitri's thoughts, chanting their demands. For the first time in a while, the latter was winning. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere, I don't think I can. You're stuck with me. I promise."

There was just one last thing on the list of moments Jeralt would never forget. He didn't think he would be able to make memories, or make any that would be forever ingrained in his brain. But there he was, coming upon the three year anniversary of his death, celebrating it by helplessly watching the prince as he sent the tip of the dagger through his eye, then just a little bit more. Jeralt wouldn't forget the agonizing cry Dimitri let out, or the way he let the blade linger before twisting it one way, then the other. He most certainly wouldn't forget the resistance the eye had when Dimitri tried to pull it out with the dagger, and his sputtered sounds once it caught. He couldn't forget how Dimitri inhaled, tightened his grip on the hilt, and yanked it out in one motion.

Dimitri dropped the dagger and pressed both hands over the wound, his screams of anguish turning into sobs of sorrow until he was out of air. He breathed in as much as he could and did it all over again. 

Jeralt would never forget that sound.

* * *

A harsh aching in Dimitri's head woke him up. 

It wasn't the same ache he was living with since Duscur. That one was a dull thump at the back of his head, serving as a reminder for revenge. This ache felt as though an arrow went through his right eye. But that pain wasn't the work of an archer; none other than the Boar Prince he became. 

He got what he wanted, at least. All of his ghosts were quiet. For once, he was able to wake up to hear his own thoughts, rather than the demands of the dead. His first thought upon waking was just that; his second thought being that he was not in the forest he took as lodging for the night. He shot up, quickly taking in his surroundings. Luckily, he was able to rule out that he wasn't taken by Imperials, but he still didn't have either of his weapons on him. He stumbled out of the tent to be greeted by a young man and woman, tending to a fire. They turned their attention to him when they saw he emerged from the tent, friendly smiles on their faces. 

"You're awake!" the woman greeted, standing to approach Dimitri. Instinctively, he took a few paces back. The man stood as well, gently grabbing the arm of the woman and pulled her back.

"Are you two spies?" Dimitri demanded, trying to look at them both. His vision was tunneling, he noticed. They were too close for him to see, which only heightened his anxiety. 

"No!" The man said then, "we escaped the Empire. We're headed towards the Alliance."

"You're lying." Dimitri tried to look for his weapons, but he just couldn't see. "Who sent you? Was it that vile woman on your throne? Or was it her lapdog?"

"We are only commoners," the man continued. "The Empire took over our village to house their soldiers. We are telling the truth."

"We found you unconscious," the woman chimed in, "severely wounded. We set up our camp around you, and I treated your eye the best I could." 

Dimitri brought a hand up to his eye, feeling thick gauze and bandages there. "What did you _do_?"

The cleric opened her mouth, though was overpowered by the man's voice. "She saved your life!" 

"I stopped the bleeding and closed up the empty space…" she whispered. Dimitri held back a scoff. _Weak._

"Where are my weapons?" He asked slowly. The man huffed and pointed behind them, where his silver lance leaned against a tree, and the dagger laying atop of a sizeable pool of blood. Wordlessly, he stalked over to grab the two. Without a word of thanks, nor pausing to flick the eyeball off the tip of his dagger, he was off. 

"You should stop," Jeralt suggested once the sun had nearly set. "Find something to eat, make camp, rest." He tried to look at his host, but between the overgrown mop of hair and the wrappings over his eye, he found that he couldn't see much. 

"I cannot rest until I have her head," Dimitri drawled. This wasn't the same brat that asked him for help in Remire Village, nor was it the same brat that looked so expectantly everywhere, waiting for his Professor to give orders. Jeralt doesn't want to believe it, but it was very possible the Dimitri he met died, and haunted his shell, just as Jeralt did now. 

"You need to stop," Jeralt demanded, in a tone much firmer than the last. He didn't have to use that one too often with Byleth, they were always such as fast learner. "You need to get new wrappings for your wound before it gets infected, and figure out where exactly you're going."

Dimitri growled, turning to his latest ghost. "Will you be _quiet_?!" He yelled, "I did this to silence the voices like yours!"

It was then the two of them heard a group laughing, the clinking of metal jugs, and the sounds of a fire crackling. Dimitri tried to look for the source, having to turn his head to see it properly. Jeralt followed the brat's gaze; Imperial soldiers. 

"I go where _they_ go," Dimitri snarled, readjusting the grip on his lance to fight rather than lean on it. "I follow the rats and rid the world of them."

Jeralt was able to do nothing but follow.

* * *

"We should go," Jeralt urged his host. The years since Dimitri's escape was spent roaming Fódlan, picking out Imperial soldiers, bandits, thieves, and anyone else, if he felt they were in his way. He heard the soldiers were going to the Monastery for a reason that Dimitri didn't listen to, rather turning on his heels as soon as the first part got out. And once again, Jeralt was unwillingly back at Garreg Mach. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared. Every time he had been there ended in the death of someone he loved; his wife, then his child. While he was surprised to have seen Dimitri make it this far, he was near certain he would meet his end here, especially if he lingered longer than necessary. 

"Leave me alone," Dimitri said slowly, "I'm taking a break. Was it not you who suggested that?"

Jeralt didn't say anything to that, only taking watch at the top of the stairs. He could alert the brat, at the very least. He gaped at the bodies laying lifeless on the stairs in absolute awe of his host's power. Jeralt would always lend his strength to Dimitri while he fought, despite him knowing all too well that he could handle it on his own. Even still, Jeralt's power was Dimitri's power, even if it just meant alerting him when an enemy was approaching his blind spot. 

He heard footsteps. "Kid," he called while trying to make them out. It was only one person, one person with a heel on the bottom of their shoes. "There's someone coming."

The Prince, that _brat_, did nothing, only kept their head low and body small in its curled form. He was so aggravating, why did he only listen to the ghosts that didn't care whether he lived or died?

The footsteps got closer, getting to the steps. The steps stopped to look at the bodies that laid on them, deciding between going further or turning back. The steps didn't take much time thinking of it, and kept going. The footsteps came to the point where Jeralt could see who the steps belonged to. 

The footsteps belonged to Byleth. 

Jeralt's breath caught in his throat, and he took a few steps back to look at their child properly. They were alive. _Byleth was alive_. Alive and mostly unchanged from the decade that went by, save for the change in hair and eye color. 

"I should've known," Dimitri whispered, "that one day, you would be haunting me as well." He stood, towering over Byleth. "You…What must I do to be rid of you?" It was foolish of him to ask, they were there for the same reason all the others were. "I will kill that woman, I swear it," he answered for the figure in front of him. "Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!"

"T-that's not a ghost, Dimitri" Jeralt all but yelped, floating closer to his host. "That's Byleth." Dimitri looked at Byleth just as they said "everything will be okay."

"You…" he said then, the most he sounded like himself in years. "It can't be! You're alive?!"

His hopeful tone dropped, drawing his guard up as fast as he let it fall. "You must be an Imperial spy sent to kill me then, are you not?" Byleth looked at their student, former student, with a sadness that Jeralt had never seen before, not even when he was dying. This sadness was one of regret instead of loss. 

"Of course not," they said. Jeralt may have taught his child to follow the bullion, but he also taught his child loyalty. They wouldn’t have betrayed their students like that. 

"I'm glad you're safe," Byleth tried once Dimitri's back was turned to them. Dimitri turned his head to the right, no use. "Am I?"

He turned his head back to start walking, only to be met with his former Professor's father. "I thought you never gave up hope," he muttered to Jeralt, who had teared up at the sight of his child. 

"There are just some things you have to see for yourself, kid."

Byleth and, unknowingly to them, Jeralt, followed Dimitri into the remains of the cathedral. It was there he explained to his professor that he spent the past five years living as a ghost and brought the living down with them. He told the Professor that the Monastery, and the town immediately before it, was overrun with thieves and bandits that were there only to loot. "It's time to hunt down their nest," he declared, before leading them to it. 

Jeralt knew the bleary look in Byleth's eyes; it was if they had just woken up from a particularly good sleep. When they were younger, they would sometimes indulge their father on their dreams from the previous night. No matter how exciting it may have been, they always told it with a straight face, as though they've had the same dream for all their life. Besides the sleepiness, Byleth did well in battle, finding that they did not have to do much work, as their student went in head-first, taking out as many as he could with a single swing of his lance. They had no doubt that they could rout the bandits by themselves, but it was more than a surprise when their students filed in to help. 

Gilbert greeted the Prince as soon as every rat was rid of, along with the other seven of Dimitri's former classmates. It was obvious to Jeralt that this reunion was overwhelming to both his host and his child. Neither he or Dimitri could recall a time where a real, living, human being spoke to him. Not shouted at him, before trying to stick their weapon in a place that would wound him severely, if not kill him entirely. No one, not a real living human being, has expressed how much they've missed Dimitri in half a decade. 

And, as Jeralt anticipated, he did not take it well. 

Dimitri retreated to the cathedral while everyone else tried to make the Monastery somewhere they could live again. Jeralt found a place in the rubble where he could settle in--he had a feeling he would be there for a while. 

Jeralt had gone relatively quiet after Dimitri's twentieth birthday. Truthfully, he ran out of the words he used to comfort his own child all those years ago. Jeralt didn't know what to say to the boy that carved a path for those he had lost. He realized very quickly that there wouldn't be anything to say, so he let the other ghosts win. 

"You still love her," a boy said, a boy too young to have ever been a knight. "That is why you haven't brought us her head yet." "Any love I harbored for that woman is gone now, Glenn, I swear it!" Dimitri insisted. "Do not look at me like that! I promise, I will have her head soon." This was more like the afterlife Jeralt expected. Repetition, seeing and hearing all of his regrets on a loop, something to keep him company while in the Eternal Flames. These were not his regrets that he saw on loop, however, and this was not the Eternal Flames. Though at this point Jeralt could determine that the subconscious of a traumatized prince was a very close second.

"Dimitri," a voice, Byleth's voice, called, snapping both Jeralt and his host from their stupors. "Who are you talking to?"

"Leave me alone," Dimitri demanded. "Who I talk to does not concern you. You only need to worry about getting to Enbarr so I can kill that vile woman." He took a step closer to Byleth, and Byleth did not move away from him. Jeralt stood to get himself closer to the scene. Byleth wore the same face of regret they did when they found him. 

"And until I do," Dimitri went on, "I shall use you and your body until you are nothing but flesh melting from bone. Am I clear on that?"

Byleth barely nodded before stalking out, not that Dimitri had watched them go. As soon as he couldn't see them anymore, he turned back to the rubble.

"Hey," Jeralt said firmly, "brat."

"What do you want?" 

"I understand your life has not been an easy one, really kid, I do. I wish I could tell you that it wasn't your fault and you're allowed to live your life but you don't listen to me the way you listen to them."

"That is because you are the only ghost that talks back."

"Not the point," Jeralt corrected. "The point is, no matter what you've been through, and no matter my efforts to make you feel better, you will never talk to my kid like that."

A long while passed where Jeralt and Dimitri simply looked at each other, the way they did when Dimitri found out about his new ghost in the first place. Then, finally: "I…I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, kid," Jeralt said, pointing to the door. "Apologize to them."

Dimitri didn't, for a while. He still pressed his demands to travel to the Empire's capital and cared little for his allies on the battlefield. It took Dimitri a while to remember that he was not a one man army anymore. His wounds were patched as soon as he got them, and while he still took out many enemies on his own, there were others to help him out. Not that he ever needed it. 

Lord Rodrigue joined their army, briefly. He gave Dimitri Areadbhar and a few words to motive him to keep moving forward. And they did, all the way to Gronder field, where former students fought against each other, this time to the death. Dimitri had no problem slaying those he once called his classmates, even if they were not in the same house. Those classmates had no problem fighting back, even if it ended up being in vain. 

Byleth was the one to attack Edelgard to a point where she had to retreat. The strength Jeralt gave Dimitri in battle was not enough this time. His one eye gave him tunnel vision, and his lack of sleep made it double. He staggered as he approached her. Surely he would have met his fate if his Professor wasn’t in a targetable range.

Lord Rodrigue led Byleth to help conduct the body count, saving them from a thorough tongue-lashing from Dimitri. Lord Rodrigue then saved Dimitri from a fatal stab wound, leaving Dimitri with only one, one that would let him live to see another day, hopefully enough to see the end of the war. Whichever one would come first, it would be one that Rodrigue would not have lived to see. 

Byleth struck down the girl easily. Had Jeralt still been alive, he would not have let Byleth listen to Dimitri's words like a lost puppy. He would have encouraged Byleth to put their foot down and not let strangers into their army. But he couldn't do any of those things, as he had spent five years of being dead attached to a man that was just as dead as he was, despite the consistent thumping in his chest that differentiated the two. 

It was after the funeral of Lord Rodriuge when Dimitri apologized to everyone for his actions. He promised to atone for his sins, no matter how long it took. It would take a while for everyone to forgive him, he was expecting that, but he would prove it by taking back his own capital, in Fhirdiad. 

He thought taking out his own eye would get his ghosts, save for Jeralt, to be quiet. He thought deciding to live for himself would shut them up surely. But, when he tried to close his eyes, all he saw were flames, and the hundreds of bodies. A proper night's sleep was something Dimitri still had to work towards, if he would ever get there. For now, though, he went back to the cathedral, finding his Professor was already there. 

They stood shoulder to shoulder for a while, staring at the rubble as if it would tell them how to solve everything if they looked long enough. Part of Byleth hoped that's what they would get. Maybe Sothis was still there, sleeping beneath the rubble. Maybe Byleth had to get themselves killed again, and maybe then she would return. Byleth decided, however, that it wasn't worth trying. They couldn't die now. 

A gust of cold wind brushed through them, sending a shiver down their spine. They could practically hear Sothis say, "You can't die now. That includes freezing to death."

Sothis didn't say that because Sothis couldn't talk to them anymore, but they still felt a layer of warmth being dropped over their shoulders. They looked up to see that Dimitri temporarily donated his fur layer to his Professor's shoulders. 

"Thank you," Byleth said. "I don't know how you do it."

"My mind has been too occupied to think of the cold."

They nodded. "Thank you," they repeated. A pause, and then, "I forgive you."

Dimitri's neck almost snapped at the way he turned to look at Byleth. "What?"

Byleth underestimated how tall Dimitri had gotten. They stood on their toes to reach their arms around his neck for a hug, but still pulled him down —ever so gently— so their feet could touch the ground. Even still, the sudden contact startled Dimitri, as he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands besides let them hover over his former professor’s back. His hands were shaking, he was shaking. Byleth took note of that and hugged him tighter. 

“Hug back,” Jeralt urged, “_please_. Hug them back.”

So he did, letting his arms wrap around his teacher’s middle, finding purchase in the spot where their neck met their shoulders. He fit just right. 

“Thank you,” Dimitri’s ghost whispered, his voice thick with the oncoming threat of tears. “Thank you.”

* * *

Dimitri sat down for the first meal he had with his classmates, his allies, since they had all reunited. His presence was never one to be missed, and that was reinforced that evening. Everyone had their heads deep in their beef stew, no room for words in the tension that surrounded them. Jeralt stood at the head of the table, as he did in his first hours as a ghost, watching Dimitri eat.

"Slow down, kid," he reminded. Dimitri let go of his spoon so he could swallow his food properly before picking it back up again, taking a more human bite. Byleth, who sat across from him, seemed to notice the change. They took a deep breath, one that meant they were about to say something, as soon as they got the courage to do so. 

"Once," Byleth tried, "when I was younger, I had just gotten my first sword." Dimitri smiled down at his bowl of stew; this was a story Jeralt told him countless of times. And yet, it had never gotten old to him. 

"I was so excited that I was carelessly running around with it," they continued, even pausing to laugh at their younger self. Their former students watched in awe. It was rare they saw the Professor smile, but never had their students ever seen them laugh. "So I tripped and-"

"And you jabbed yourself in the head with the hilt of your blade," Dimitri finished before he could try to stop himself. It was much too late, though, as Byleth stared at her former student with confusion all over their face. 

"I don't remember telling you that," Byleth said simply. Dimitri fished hopelessly for an excuse, feeling his face warm with embarrassment.

"Over tea!" Jeralt yelled, "she told you over tea."

"You told me over tea." The words fell out of Dimitri's mouth as fast as he got them. Byleth nodded in agreement. It comforted Jeralt (and worried him) that Byleth's shotty memory hadn't changed.

* * *

It was before they were leaving the Monastery when Byleth realized it had been five years since their father's passing. Which meant it had also been five years since they visited their father's grave. So, with an assortment of flowers in hand, they made their way to the graveyard. There was a lot they wanted to catch their father up on.

Dimitri found Byleth, finally, kneeling in front of their parent's grave. In seconds, Jeralt was there too, looking down at the ring they held in their hands. 

"So, kid, who will it be?" Jeralt asked, knowing very well his child couldn't hear him. And while Dimitri couldn't hear Byleth's subconscious response, it seemed that his ghost could. 

"Good choice, kid," Jeralt said, patting their child's head as he used to. He could have sworn they leaned into his touch. Jeralt turned back to his host, and waved him over. In three hesitant strides Dimitri was in Jeralt's place, patting his Professor's head. 

"You ready, kiddo?"

Byleth jumped and turned to the voice. Dimitri retracted his hand and tried to scratch the back of his neck in a way that didn't look like he was hiding something. 

"What?"

"I…" Dimitri stammered, "I asked if you were ready to go."

Byleth stood and angled their head to look at their student. "What did you call me?"

"I called you Professor!" He answered quickly, ignoring Jeralt's playful laughter. If only all of his ghosts were as mischievous as him. Byleth shook their head, blaming their own lack of sleep for hearing their father's voice. With one last look at their parent's grave, they nodded at Dimitri and walked out. Dimitri followed in suit, and so did Jeralt. Maybe haunting the future king wouldn't be the worse way to spend eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy
> 
> \- cheesy thank you to everyone in the discord that encouraged this  
\- while i had hope that dimitri still had both eyes and one of them was just scarred and non functioning in this instance he did in fact gouge his own eye  
\- that scene was likely inaccurate but i did Not want to do any sort of research on it  
\- jeralt had limited abilities when he first became dimitri's ghost and gained more over time. ghost level a+  
\- it is quarter to three as i am posting this, but i am Very happy it's done and i hope you like it. happy reading (:


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